


The Jazz Age Whispers

by AphrosAlexein



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Jazz Age, Memories, Recovered Memories, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22113976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AphrosAlexein/pseuds/AphrosAlexein
Summary: Loki muses on some of his experiences on Earth and remembers lost friends. Somewhat nostalgic, he listens to  past advice and does what he should have done long ago: look deep inside. What will he discover?
Kudos: 2





	1. Key Encounters

Writing is like weaving, he thought. You begin from a key word, then elaborate. But it all revolves, gravitates towards that encoded unit. Loki got his pen up and quickly scribbled something in the corner of his journal paper.  
This has been the daily mental exercise in the last few weeks: he got up early in the morning and wrote down the first idea that came to mind. It was meant as an effort to know himself better by capturing the most unconscious, perhaps useless (but sometimes subtle and shrouded) of thoughts. An effort to attain _clarity_.

He found this technique while travelling on Midgard. On Realm Eternal literature was much more classic, it both form and meaning. Writers were at the same time philosophers, sorcerers, astronomers, playwrights, historians. Most books were histories of Asgard, papers of magic, epics and works of adventure, or philosophical in manner. Well, there was also an entire series "Heimdallr's considerations on the universe: a detailed description of Niflheim, Muspelheim, Asgard, Midgard, Jotunheim, Vanaheim, Alfheim, Svartalfheim, Helheim", which were 9 tomes describing all stars, planets, galaxies, realms. Other works on astronomy were minor. One separate category were fairytales, yet those fit mostly children.  
Thus, sciences in Asgard have not yet separated, as on Earth. 

_During one of his visits, he entered a Parisian cafè. What attracted him inside was the music he heard; humans call it "jazz". The sinous notes pervaded through the thin glass windows, travelled his hearing channel and captivated him immediately. It was early evening and the diffuse light from this French local seemed like a true invitation to join in; it promised a warm atmosphere and significant knowledge on Midgardian culture._

_He opened the door and was met with a noteworthy sight: there was a round table in the middle, surrounded by young earthlings. They seemed in some kind of debate; it was held in a friendly manner. Other people minded their own, drinking and laughing with peers. Everything was covered in a sheer layer of smoke and so the smell of cigarettes was a dominant flavour._  
_Their clothes complemented the overall ambiance: wood-panelled room walls, small, beige chandeliers, dark green Art Deco chairs (he learnt the precise name afterwards), black tables. Men and women alike were dressed in dark shades, adopting an elegant flair. The females had a peculiar, never seen before, style of garment; he later knew that it was essential to their look: the "flapper" dress._  
_It was almost dreamlike. However, as opposed to illusions, where shadows seem like real characters and instead you fill in their real role, he was met with strange eyes. Nonetheless, nobody really minded him._  
_Thus, he was covered with a veil of anonimity, which was truly enjoyable. This way, it was much easier to learn unobserved. On the other side, a part of him wanted some attention._

_He got to the bar and sat on a stool. The bartender said in a questioning manner:_

_"Haven't seen you before in here.. What will it be for you?"_  
_"Just a straight whiskey." The youth put a few coins on the table._  
_"Here it comes."_

_He got his glass, took a quick sip and moved towards that group. He looked again at the group sitting around the round table and overheard snippets of conversation. Following their tone, words, mannerisms, even banter, he saw how close they were, even if, in his eyes, they seemed to have known each other for no more than a day. Almost strangers, but youth united them so naturally. Their affinity shone through like a golden aura. He quickly got jealous, comparing them to his stiff almost-friends. Yet, as always, he buried deep this sentiment, thinking he should anyways enjoy himself, while it lasts._

_He got closer and distinguished more clearly their matter, only now noticing two were playing a game of cards._

_"Renè, accept and move on. You lost, c'est fini. Let's start again, but don't think you'll beat me yet. After all, I taught you the game just two hours ago."_

_A short-haired, blonde woman said these words, with a strange accent. She chuckled and seemed somewhat prideful, though on merit: apparently she was a good card player and also a good game teacher. She was easily the most traditionally beautiful woman at the table. Diametrically opposite, sat Renè, who looked like a classic dandy, full of poise and manners, but at her right sat one of her friends, supposedly. The other woman was engaged in a conversation with a younger man. They talked about something which she cared very much about; one could see it in the glint of her eyes. Her interest made her features look lively and captured the attention of her partner. Finally, directly in front of him were two more men and one woman, who, based on the previously heard conversation, were called Georges, Bernard and Emilie. The first two were brothers, but they didn't look alike. Emilie seemed the youngest; she was also somewhat quiet and listened to the brothers' talking._

_He wanted to get in the group, but he was too reserved to interrupt. However, the second woman, near the blonde, saw his hesitation and invited him in with her gaze. "How observant.." he thought._  
_And she didn't even look at him, until then._

_"Noticed you since you entered in <Les Lilas>... you don't seem like the usual. But don't be shy, this place is for everyone". _

_The woman greeted him, breaking the ice. She was confident, but in a more mature way than her friends. The youthful taste for coquettery was replaced by a sort of tolerance and accommodating friendliness._

_"Feel free to sit here. I am Mathilde, by the way, and this is my husband, Henri."_  
_Henri nod his head as a salute._

_"My dear friend here is Alice and the new Bridge player is Renè." Alice smiled and Renè greeted politely. Yet they all seemed to be used to Mathilde being the mediator between old and new acquaintances._

_"Finally, these are the Verdi brothers, Bernard and Georges; near them is Emilie; they are all our new friends"._

_Mathilde waited now to present himself._

_In a strained voice, he said: "Nice to meet you all, and thank you Mathilde, if I may, for this easy introduction. Yes, I am not familiar to this place, so one could say this is my holiday. My name is.. "_

The night went by in a quick pace. He talked to all of them, although most to Mathilde, as she made him feel most comfortable. This wasn't very long ago, it must have been about 90 years, yet their introduction remains crystal clear in his mind. (However, it is the only, and the last thing he remembers this accurately. The others have long begun to change shapes and meanings. Forgetfullness tastes bitter.)  
Although, different memories flow by, some half forgotten, some improved and romanticised by the crafty side of his brain (who doesn't accept that even he can't remember everything). Loki realised that these six people, or mortals (as he referred to them later), were his only friends in his millenium of existence. Disastrous. Yet, he began to reminiscence their times spent together, which helped him understand better than anyone, he thinks, humanity's internal and external crisis of the 20th century. They also helped him understand himself, a great feat, really. So, his writing now is also the result of their encounter. 

_Once, Mathilde told him: "Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself. You know, you could become a great writer, if only you would dive in and gain clarity."_

_He responded, thinking of Asgardian epics and legends: "And what? Create another Odysseus? I'm afraid nobody would be interested. These stories are no longer fit for the present society; nobody ever goes to an adventure nowadays to discover himself. You just live in the same place, doing the same things. History moves on, quickly, in a rush (just look at newspapers) and you delude yourself you'll do something new tomorrow. What a pity."_

_"You're right, but I never said to write about manly men and fair ladies._

_Exactly the absence of adventure, as you understand it, is the greatest adventure of our lives. Our journies nowadays are on the inside, concealed, and in your soul there's as much action as in the external lives, conquests and adventures of any classic hero. Yes, outside noise covers it, you said history, but that doesn't undermine the reality. In the past, it was possible to become a valiant warrior, as the background did not change: same old kingdoms, empires, nobility and vassals. Now it is vastly different: social ranks are no longer for life and moreover, the outside rate of change and the oversaturation of (unimportant) information outshine our private lives._

_You just need to find a way to express this. Anyways, I'll try to help you. Try to write down everything that comes to mind, without judgement or censorship. Even better, do this as soon as you wake up or in a moment you're most relaxed. I'm sure..."_

Her advice continued and he was grateful for it. Maybe not in that moment, but now he appreciates the value.

Where was he before this sentimental intermission? Oh, mornings gave the prince a great opportunity to enjoy and relish in the best time of the day. Nothing surpasses the crystal stillnes of silence before sunrise, even some moments afterwards. It is not an empty quietness ("like in the Void", he thinks with a shudder), but rather the "fullest" one; in an ambigous sense of this word. "Fullness"... when all particles of nature stand unbearably close to each other, affecting all neighbours with their inherent agitation. But the space is so close, that they can't neither reject nor accept eachother totally. They seem as if in a frozen state, separated by equal distances, yet the truth stands on the opposite side. It is the purest form of movement. Each particle identifies with all others, and through it's manipulation, it is able to influence all others. ("What an illuminating thought! Then so is the essence of his seidr, is it not? This particular state of matter, this total unity.")

  
Just the right moment; it all seems cohesive, no disruptances in flows of energy, everything moves in sync. The puzzle is complete: one can see and identify each piece individually, but also perceive the whole in it's "fullness". "What a strange word"... he wrote it down with beautiful and elegant penmanship on his paper, determining it as the final result of early meditation hours. 

Suddenly, calmness washed over him. He lost his peak of focus and felt all muscles in his body lose their imposed rigidity, returning to natural tension. This is what he meant through clarity. A direct sense of perception. He looked inside, finally.


	2. Vitrail

Truth is, life in Midgard showed him the way to unveil his deepest inner layer. In those times, Earth was much more sensory; people should have been very attuned in order to accurately experience the '20s.

It was an era of profound change, on all levels: political and social (aftermath of WWI and the "New Woman"), cultural (birth of mass culture, the cinema), psychological and even artistic (modernism, departure from classic form and meaning of arts, emergence of jazz).

This much his friends knew, so they rightfully helped him evade his unseen shell. For him, all these aspects were foreign; Asgard was an odd combination between Ancient and Medieval, albeit technologically advanced. Thus, uncomparable to Earth.

Often, in the past, he saw his soul as a lonely island, trapped between neverending barriers. His auto-imposed walls were covered in distorted mirrors (which made it impossible to distinguish reality from fantasy), and yet they were subtly perforated by thin cracks. These were his only hope and solace (as voices from outside could still pervade), but also a cause of fury, when only seen as deceptive distractions.

However, his friends changed both fact and perception (for the better).

_A few months after his first encounter with the earthlings, he found himself along Alice, enjoying a promenade near one natural park, in a garden. The floral surroundings shined especially captivating in afternoon solar light, creating an idyllic ambiance. Many couples and groups were strolling around; they seemed content to have found a little Paradise on Earth. In that right moment, everyone was transfixed by the scenery. Everyone, but Loki._

_With her French accent, Alice sighed, almost daydreaming: "Look at all these beautiful people.. how their elegance breaks through corporality, as if dissolving in space and fusing into nature. Even silent, they all look connected. How I missed this closeness in spirit!"_

_Loki did not understand what she meant. Asgard was much more shining and golden, with its impressive castles and estates; all men and women of nobility were dressed in expensive, overembroidened garments, while smiling politely; really, these were their courtly qualities. Then, he could not abstain from considering, judging and always comparing himself or his upbringing to outside perceptions. It is true that Alice was impressionable, yet he longed to be a little more like her._

_Still, Loki responded, trying not to stifle her enthusiasm: "Indeed, Parisian chic is an understatement."_

_The young woman woke up from her reverie and looked startled. In her mind, it was impossible not to be animated by the roaring lifeforce and grace of youth. She gazed at his masked indifference strangely, but said nothing._

_Nonetheless, their walk was not without reason. She convinced him to join her as at the end of the park, after passing Seine, stood tall a grandious gothic chapel, entrancing Sainte Chapelle. Its sense of weightlessness and strong vertical emphasis almost lifts the viewer off the ground, inviting his senses to extend inside and be stunned by beauty. Yet, the most convincing part are surely the glass stained windows: colors in pictures come alive and glide through images, moving before one's eyesight. Their translucency filters the light outside, but improves it in quality; it seems diffuse, ambigous and this optical mystery makes space seem fluid and almost alive. It reminded him of magic._

This experience was onto something. Surprisingly, even if the Realm Eternal was home to gods, the stained glass window had yet to be invented. He will have to remedy that in the future; ...but now he relived his astonishment at seeing for the first time that pinnacle of human creativity and workmanship.

_Alice looked at Loki's focused eyes; she couldn't help but chuckle: "Finally I've surprised you with something!"_

_He answered, absentmindedly: "That you did."_

_After a few more moments of quiet contemplation, the woman started conversation again: "You've never seen this before? How odd, they are almost everywhere in Europe. Anyways, in French we call them , but the word stems from Latin."_

_Alice liked to explain things and be listened to, so she pronounced "Vitrail" with an exaggerated accent, in order to make him attentive. Nevertheless, to his ear, it sounded even more foreign, but still beautiful._

_He suddenly decided to share his inner thoughts: "Where I come from, there's no such contrast betw-.."_

_Alice interrupted: "Wait! You never told me where you're from."_

_Thankfully, Loki, during his stay on Midgard, prepared an answer for this unfortunate question. Long live history books and museums!_

_"Well, I was born in... Norway. Church building in Norway is characterized by the widespread use of wood constructions. You probably know of their most representative form, the so-called <stave churches>. Built during the 11th century; ..such a great example of Medieval architecture, they bring together traces of Celtic art, Viking traditions, Romanesque spatial structures and also new Christian motifs. Their interior is an extention of what you see on the outside: still wooden, somewhat rustic, but nevertheless welcoming." _

_The young woman seemed happy to finally hear him talk about himself, or at least his origins._

_"As I was saying, there's no contrast in my homeland's case; the interior and exterior are very connected. Here, quite the opposite: its facade is elegant, promising, but does not openly show the monument's true calibre."_

_Truthfully, in Asgard it was exactly the other way around: both sides were equally grandiose and overwhelming. Though, this explanation will have to do._

_He continued: "You're also right; the stained glass windows are its strong point. I've never seen something quite like it."_

_"How so?" Alice asked again._

_Loki thought quickly: "I did not travel a lot; my parents were always occupied with... something else. My childhood and teenage years were spent either in school, studying, and in the norse mountains, or surroundings, observing nature."_ _Partly true._

_"It sounds awfully lonely, if you ask me. I wouldn't have survived in your place. Well, good thing you're here now, finally discovering the world and yourself."_

_Loki responded pensively: "Yes, good thing I'm here now..."._

_She carried on: "In a weird way, even if you were not born in here, this place makes me think of you. More precisely, the vitrails."_

_Loki laughed: "One thing I haven't heard before. Tell me why?"_

_"In my early youth, I spent one holiday in Paris; since then I've loved its spirit. Recently, I realised that this old fascination stems from the city's architecture: it greatly influences my frame of mind. Think especially about gothic monuments, they are very inspiring._

_Reflecting on this conclusion, I found out why vitrails captured my attention. They seem to possess two types of light: the first is outer; it sparkles and shines only when the sun is out. Light becomes refined, slightly altered when it refracts through glass, inside. The angles at which windows are positioned, make specific places radiate in scattered colours, creating new, overlayed images._

_The second becomes visible during the night, when darkness makes the gleam from within stand out. In such moments, beauty seems more mysterious than ever, as it seems, concomitently, continously present, yet also everchanging._

_However, when you visit repeteadly this chapel, you notice you see something different everytime. It makes me ponder on how people transform day by day, and how outside factors mold our inner self._ _You "know" who you are in the morning, but by the evening, you've changed a few times. A lifetime happened, really._

_The outer light makes your shadow break into nuanced shards. You try to pick up the squared stones and reassemble the image, but... can you?_

_However, during the night, that unchangeable part shines through. It sometimes guides you to gently fold the pieces back together. Sometimes, they become clear through their see-through skins. Only then it works._

_That's why you remind me of vitrails. I sense your difficulty, even if you conceal it. But remember that only you can discover the lead lines and reposition the puzzle pieces. Have faith in this."_

_At her words, Loki looked stunned and remained silent. He did not know what to say._

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in here, feel free to share your opinion or give advice.


End file.
